The bell clattered about the door as I entered.
‘Is Mr Humphrey here?’ I enquired of a handsome woman with rosy cheeks behind the counter.
‘My brother’s out, I’m afraid, miss. Can I help?’
I hesitated. Johnny had told me to put his work into the hands of William Humphrey alone.
‘Will he be long?’
She shook her head and pointed me to a high stool by the counter.
‘No. If you’d like to wait, you may sit there.’
I sat in my corner watching Miss Humphrey deal with the steady flow of customers. It soon became apparent she did more than just serve at the counter: she was well versed in all aspects of the business and had her own firm views on what to sell to her customers.
‘No, you won’t like those,’ she said confidently to one elderly gentleman in a clerical hat. ‘At least, Mrs Buchet will disapprove, if I know her. How about this new batch by Mr Gillray?’
‘Ah, Miss Humphrey, I swear you can read my mind sometimes,’ said the elderly gentleman, handing over some coins. ‘I’ll tell my wife you recommended them.’
The doorbell clanged again as he left, letting in a new customer.
‘Can I help you, sir?’ asked Miss Humphrey affably.
‘Perhaps. I’m looking for the most recent cartoon by Captain Sparkler . . . the one with the chamber pot.’
What terrible luck! It was Marzi-pain Marchmont, the boy who had been so eager to pry into Johnny’s affairs. I hid the roll of paper in my skirts and kept my head down.
‘Indeed I know it, sir. But unfortunately, we’ve sold out and are expecting a reprint. My brother should be back soon with the new stock. Would you care to wait? This young lady is already waiting for him. I’m sure he won’t be long now.’
Marchmont glanced carelessly in my direction, then, seeing who it was, he stopped and turned back.
‘Miss Royal! Well, this is a most unexpected pleasure,’ he said with a smile of suppressed triumph. He gave a shallow bow. ‘Quite a coincidence.’
I rose to curtsey and the roll of paper clattered to the floor. I bent to pick it up but he was quicker.
‘Allow me,’ he said, scooping it from the floor. He held it out to me. ‘A little something of your own or by your friend, I wonder?’
I took it back and shoved it out of sight.
‘It’s nothing,’ I said quickly.
‘I very much doubt that,’ he said, meeting my eyes. His gaze was unnerving: he seemed to be staring straight through me, trying to extract the truth like a surgeon removing a gallstone. I shivered.
‘So, what brings you here?’ I asked to change the subject.
‘I live near here . . . just a few doors away.’ I quickly abandoned my wish to live in Gerrard Street. ‘And you?’
Damn! He’d turned the tables again.
‘I’m on an errand. For Mr Kemble.’
Miss Humphrey had innocently been listening in on our conversation.
‘You’re from Drury Lane, my dear? Would you mind very much taking something back for me? I’ve got a parcel here for the theatre.’ She reached under the counter and pulled out a small package. I could see even upside down that it was addressed to Jonathan Smith Esq. My hand shot out to relieve her of it before Marchmont could note it and I tucked it away in my apron pocket.
‘Of course,’ I said. ‘On second thoughts, I’d better run. Can you see your brother gets this?’ I handed over the rolled cartoon. It seemed better to flee before Mr Humphrey returned in case anything more incriminating was said in Marchmont’s hearing.
‘That I will,’ she said, smiling at us both. ‘Take care now: it’s getting dark.’
Marchmont and I both turned to look out of the window: indeed, it was already very grey and some of the houses had candles in their windows, making the twilight seem even gloomier by contrast.
‘Miss Royal, I cannot allow you to cross half of London unescorted at this time of day. Allow me to accompany you. I’ll get our man, James, to come with us. He’s waiting just outside.’
‘Now, isn’t that handsome of the young gentleman!’ said Miss Humphrey, beaming at him.
‘No, really, Mr Marchmont. That’s quite unnecessary,’ I began.
‘No, no, I insist.’ He took my arm and propelled me to the door. ‘I think it is time we had a few words in private,’ he said in a lower tone.
James, a burly footman armed with a stout cudgel, was indeed waiting for his master outside.
‘James, change of plan,’ said Marchmont briskly. ‘We’re to walk this young lady back to Drury Lane.’
‘Right you are, sir,’ said the footman, not showing much interest in me or the destination. It seemed that he was used to his master’s brusque ways.
‘Now, Miss Royal, about those drawings,’ said Marchmont as we dodged our way across St Martin’s Lane, his arm firmly clamped on mine. ‘You do know that there is a reward promised for information leading to the capture of Captain Sparkler?’
‘Really?’ I said in what I hoped was an unruffled tone.
‘A girl like you could do with a few guineas, I dare say.’
I said nothing. He knew nothing about girls like me.
‘In my opinion, it’s not the reward that should tempt a person, it’s the satisfaction of putting out of business one of the most wicked traitors this country has ever known.’
‘You won’t do that by buying his cartoons,’ I replied, hopping over a pile of manure which I noted with pleasure Marchmont was too preoccupied to avoid.
‘Dammit!’ he cursed on noticing. ‘That purchase was research. I have a theory, but I needed a specimen of the man’s work. I wouldn’t touch the stuff otherwise, believe me. I’d also like another look at your manuscript, if you would be so obliging.’